“In here.” Grabbing my hand, Mia hauls me into a designer
boutique that’s all pink silk and faux-French distressed
rustic furniture. Kate follows us while Taylor waits outside,
sheltering under the awning from the rain. Aretha is belting
out “Say A Little Prayer” over the store’s hi-fi system. I
love this song. I should put it on Christian’s iPod.
“This will look wonderful on you, Ana.” Mia holds up a
scrap of silver material. “Here, try it on.”
“Um . . . it’s a bit short.”
“You’ll look fantastic in it. Christian will love it.”
“You think?”
Mia beams at me. “Ana, you have legs to die for, and if
we go clubbing tonight”—she smiles, sensing an easy kill
—“you’ll look hot for your husband.”
I blink at her, slightly shocked. We’re going clubbing?
I don’t do clubbing.
Kate laughs at my expression. She seems more relaxed
now that she’s away from Elliot. “We should throw some
shapes this evening,” she says.
“Go try it on,” Mia orders, and reluctantly I head for
the changing room.
While I wait for Kate and Mia to emerge from the dressing
room, I stroll to the shop window and look out, unseeing,
across the main street. The soul compilation continues:
Dionne Warwick is singing “Walk On By.” Another great
song—one of my mother’s favorites. I glance down at The
Dress in my hand. Dress is perhaps an overstatement. It’s
backless and very short, but Mia has declared it a winner,
perfect for dancing the night away. Apparently, I need
shoes, too, and a large chunky necklace, which we’ll
source next. Rolling my eyes, I reflect once more on how
lucky I am to have Caroline Acton, my own personal
shopper.
Through the boutique window I’m distracted by the
sight of Elliot. He has appeared on the other side of the
leafy main street, climbing out of a large Audi. He dives
into a store as if to duck out of the rain. Looks like a
jewelry store . . . maybe he’s looking for that watch
battery. He emerges a few minutes later and not alone—
with a woman.
Fuck! He’s talking to Gia! What the hell is she doing
here?
As I watch, they hug briefly and she holds her head
back, laughing animatedly at something he says. He kisses
her cheek then runs to the waiting car. She turns and heads
down the street, and I gape after her. What was that
about? I turn anxiously toward the dressing rooms, but
there’s still no sign of Kate or Mia.
I glance at Taylor, where he’s waiting outside the store.
He catches my eye then shrugs. He’s witnessed Elliot’s
little encounter, too. I blush, embarrassed to have been
caught snooping. Turning back, Mia and Kate emerge,
both of them laughing. Kate looks at me quizzically.
“What’s wrong, Ana?” she asks. “You gone cold on
the dress? You look sensational in it.”
“Um, no.”
“Are you okay?” Kate’s eyes widen.
“I’m fine. Shall we pay?” I head to the cashier joining
Mia who has chosen two skirts.
“Good afternoon, ma’am.” The young sales assistant—
who has more gloss coating her lips than I have ever seen
in one place—smiles at me. “That’ll be eight hundred and
fifty dollars.”
What? For this scrap of material! I blink at her and
meekly hand over my black Amex.
“Mrs. Grey,” Ms. Lip Gloss purrs.
I follow Kate and Mia in a daze for the next two hours,
warring with myself. Should I tell Kate? My subconscious
firmly shakes her head. Yes, I should tell her. No, I
shouldn’t. It could just have been an innocent meeting.
Shit. What should I do?
“Well, do you like the shoes, Ana?” Mia has her fists
on her hips.
“Um . . . yeah, sure.”
I end up with a pair of unfeasibly high Manolo Blahniks
with straps that look like they are made from mirrors. They
match the dress perfectly and set Christian back just over
a thousand dollars. I’m luckier with the long silver chain
that Kate insists I buy; it’s a bargain at eighty-four dollars.
“Getting used to having money?” Kate asks not
unkindly as we walk back to the car. Mia has skipped
ahead.
“You know this isn’t me, Kate. I’m kind of
uncomfortable about all this. But I’m reliably informed it’s
part of the package.” I purse my lips at her, and she puts
her arm around me.
“You’ll get used to it, Ana,” she says sympathetically.
“You’ll look great.”
“Kate, how are you and Elliot getting along?” I ask.
Her wide blue eyes dart to mine.
Oh no.
She shakes her head. “I don’t want to talk about it
now.” She nods toward Mia. “But things are—” She
doesn’t finish her sentence.
This is unlike my tenacious Kate. Shit. I knew
something was up. Do I tell her what I saw? What did I
see? Elliot and Miss Well-Groomed-Sexual-Predator
talking, hugging, and that kiss on the cheek. Surely they
are just old friends? No, I won’t tell her. Not right now. I
give her my I-completely-understand-and-will-respectyour-
privacy nod. She reaches for my hand and gives it a
grateful squeeze, and there it is—a swift glimpse of pain
and hurt in her eyes that she quickly stifles with a blink. I
feel a sudden surge of protectiveness for my dear friend.
What the hell is Elliot Manwhore Grey playing at?
